I was merely cursing, under my breath, God and man, under my breath, and the wet Saturday afternoon of my conception. - Samuel Beckett

Yes, I feel the moment has come for me to look back, if I can, and take my bearings, if I am to go on. If only I knew what I had been saying. Bah, no need to worry, it can only have been one thing, the same as ever. I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them. I have only to go on, as if there was something to be done, something begun, somewhere to go. It all boils down to a question of words, I must not forget this, I have not forgotten it. But I must have said this before, since I say it now.

بجدية كافحت لأكون جاداً أكثر ، أن أعيش وأبدع . ولكن عند كل محاوله جديدة أفقد عقلي ، أهرب إلى ظلالي كما يهرب الفرد إلى المعبد .

And I was wondering how to depart without self-loathing or sadness, or with as little as possible, when a kind of immense sigh all around me announced it was not I who was departing, but the flock.